


A Good Day Wasted.

by rinabina



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: First Fight, M/M, Makeup Sex, Post-Canon, Two Kings, Why did I do this to them?, one kingdom, they are in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 19:49:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17230136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rinabina/pseuds/rinabina
Summary: Damen and Laurent have a disagreement during a policy meeting.  Feelings are hurt, beliefs are challenged, and even after apologies, they need to come back to each other.  How are they to rule and be lovers at the same time?  All takes place during a sunny day in Ios.





	A Good Day Wasted.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm purging/posting all my WIPs for the end of 2018! 
> 
> For some reason I wanted to make our boys fight? I started this fic like two years ago, I have no idea why. Maybe I just wanted to challenge myself? Maybe I wanted to challenge them? 
> 
> I did both, and I'm glad I gave it a go! No worries here, happy endings all around :) Just a day in the life! Enjoy!

A good day wasted, that’s what this was.  Outside, the sun was radiant over a gem-blue sea.  Through the window, Damen could see the spray flit off the tips of waves as an eastern breeze whipped over the water.  Fishing boats speckled the horizon, hauling in their nets and lines. If he were still a boy, he’d be out there diving for sponges with the tradesmen, spearing an octopus from the volcanic rocks below, or perhaps sunning himself on the white sand.

Instead, he was locked inside a massive chamber within the Palace of Ios.  It was dark and musty, the breeze was nonexistent, and the heat of the day was making the room humid and damp.  His chiton clung to his chest, sticking in ways that were undesirable. The Veretian council sat before him, spread out along the banquet table like a flock of exotic birds.  Despite the stagnant heat of the day, they sat straight-backed and laced to the chin in silks and brocades.

Laurent himself, in all his indigo splendor, was wearing a particularly fine velvet tunic with a cloak slung over one shoulder.  He looked every bit as severe as his reputation demanded, and he’d been living up to expectations all afternoon. With his razor tongue and dizzying intellect, he’d been needling Damen and the Akeilons since they had started their meeting.

His lover had been so intense, Damen felt like they had been sparring with fists, rather than words.  The only thing tethering him to the chair at his back was the peek of bright scarlet from the inside of Laurent’s cloak.  A tribute to Akeilos and Damen. A reminder of what they’d achieved and how much they’d given up. Damen’s eyes were drawn to it helplessly each time the young king moved.

“What say you, Exalted?” Vannes called from across the table, halting Damen’s wandering thoughts and bringing him back to the topic at hand.

He shook his head and pressed the heel of his hand to one eye.  “I say _again_ , there’s no way we can agree to this. Over fifty percent of our trade stock in grain is too high.  It will detract from our other allies’ shares.”

On his side of the room, Damen was flanked by his kyroi.  Each man wore the traditional chiton and their breastplate.  Their swords and armor clanked dangerously as the moved in their chairs.  They’d been negotiating trade terms for hours and the Veretian council was adamant about a large and showy trade agreement to use as emotional leverage for their people.

Damen couldn’t see past it.

Nikandros leaned forward at Damen’s side.  “I agree with King Damianos. We can’t go past forty percent.”

Laurent shifted marginally across the table.  He glanced at Damen through narrowed eyes. His voice was steady and void of emotion as he said, “We have to hold a strong front. Many people of Vere are already outraged by the joint kingdom.  If you don’t make this sacrifice, I fear there will be more trouble than necessary.”

Damen grit his teeth.  “And what will Vere bring Akeilos in exchange for this kindness during the winter season?  Melted snow?”

A muscle moved across Laurent’s jaw. “Our allegiance isn’t enough for you?” he said lightly.  With a mischievous glint in his eye, he added, “Perhaps some bolts of cloth-”

Damen growled and pushed back from the table.  The chair legs screeched on the flagstone floor.  “This conversation is getting us nowhere!” he said loudly.

“My apologies, Exalted. I assumed you wanted our partnership to succeed.” Laurent said, picking at a spot on the table with his finger..

Fists clenched.  “Don’t be simple, Laurent.”  

Sky blue eyes regarded him for a moment, surely taking in the exasperated stance of his body.  Damen’s skin felt clammy under his clothes. For a brief moment, he thought Laurent would relent.  That he’d wave away the council and they’d discuss it on their own. That he’d lay a cool hand on the side of his neck and ground him to the issue at hand.  

That wasn’t what happened.  Instead his voice, now tight with frustration, asked a question Damen wasn’t entirely prepared for.  “Do you think that our relationship means I won’t stand up for what I think is right for our kingdom?” Laurent regarded Damien with a cold glare.  “That’s not how it works.”

Nikandros and the rest of the Kyroi tensed noticeably.  Their armor clanged in unison. Speaking of a King’s personal life at a council table was unheard of in his country.  Damen felt his patience grate even more against the inside of his skin.

He glared across the table.  Both kings were separated by a large map of their countries.  It was newly drawn by the royal cartographer of Ios. Inky state lines ran through both countries like twisting veins and arteries.  Around both Vere and Akeilos was a gilded, gold border. ‘The Kingdom’ was lettered in both languages at the top. At first, the map had given Damen hope, yet now he felt weary over how much work was left to be done.

Laurent’s words had stoked the fire of his growing frustration.  They hadn’t talked like this to each other in many months. While Laurent refused to meet his eyes, Damen studied the familiar lines of his face.  His place inside the heavily-guarded citadel of Laurent’s mind was still firmly cemented. He could hear it in the lukewarm tone of his voice, and see it in the way Laurent’s eyes lingered on him across the table.  That didn’t make disagreeing over political matters any easier.

Paired with his showy, Veretian habit of flashing their personal, private moments about the room on the other hand...

Damen breathed out slowly through his nose before speaking.  “ _Our_ kingdom, or yours?”

Laurent’s lips tightened.

“And I beg you, to keep our friendship behind closed doors, and out of the conversation at hand.”  Damen kept his voice even and low. Engaging Laurent was suicide in this setting.

“Friendship,” he hissed, and Damen’s eyes fell closed.  “Such delicate words for a blunt conversation, _Damianos_.”

A imperceptible shake of his head. “Don’t.”

The blonde king shrugged idly from his seat across the table.  “You’d think after all the times you’ve bent me over-”

Like a pot boiled over, Damen stood so quickly, the chair toppled over behind him, silencing the room with a loud _crack_.   “Leave us!” he bellowed.  The Kyroi and the Council stood up hesitantly.  Damen kept his eyes anchored to Laurent. “I require a private conversation with the King of Vere.”

His heart was hammering unpleasantly in his chest, pulse heightened by anger, shame and the unwelcome twinge of heartbreak.  His chest rose and fell heavily under his chiton, lion head pin gleaming in the low light of the afternoon.

The advisors shuffled awkwardly out of their chairs and towards the door.  Nikandros was the last, nodding to Damen silently, before pulling the doors shut behind him.  The sound of the iron latch falling into place reverberated off the high, stone walls.

Damen was leaning on the table, arms spread across the rough parchment of the map.  Laurent remained unmoved; legs crossed, and arms draped over the sides of his chair in a casual pose.

“You’re making quite a scene,” he said, inspecting his fingernails.

“Have you no honor?” Damen hissed, viciously.

Laurent blinked, apparently surprised by the words, but he kept the facade of indifference.  “I hardly think-”

“Have you no _honor_!” Damen shouted this time, voice cutting through the silent room.  It echoed, as Laurent’s eyes grew wide. His sat up in his chair and uncrossed his legs.  His fingertips touched the tabletop nervously.

“Is this a joke to you?  Any of this?”

Blue eyes narrowed. “No.”

“Then why do you insist on making it one?” Damen said, pushing off the table roughly.

“I did not know that I was.”

“This,” Damen gestured vehemently between them with his finger, “Is _ours_ and no one else’s.  It is not to be made a spectacle of.  It is _not_!”  He pounded his fist on the table.  A figurine in Vere toppled over on the map.  His emotions were spilling out of him without control. He wasn’t sorry for it.

Laurent remained silent.

“We’re not in Vere.  We’re not in the _Regent’s_ Vere. These things are not to be used as bargaining chips from one aristocrat to another.  That era is over. Our personal relationship plays no part in the politics of our countries, other than the role it played in bringing them together.  Where I put my cock at night is no business of anyone here.”

At this Laurent stood.  “ _Damen_.”

He barreled on.  “The trade of our most vital resource and crop isn’t a time for _games_ , Laurent.  I refuse to yield on sending more than forty percent to Vere, regardless of our relationship.”

The low tenor of Damen’s voice still rumbled in the background and the table seemed like miles between them.  Moments ago he’d been glad for the distance, but now, he wanted to reach for Laurent. He wanted it so badly, his fingertips ached.

Laurent’s body faltered, a balk.  It was as though he didn’t know what to do.  He was flustered, but only someone as fine-tuned to his emotions as Damen would notice.  One of his hands lingered on the table, fingers poised over Arles unconsciously. “I didn’t mean to...that is, this is not a joke, Damen.  It’s not a joke to me.”

Damen’s heart was aching, emotions boiling unpleasantly in his gut.  He spoke without thinking. “I’ve never been ashamed of being your lover before now,” Damen said.  “Except for one time.”

Blue-clad shoulders dropped.  “And when was that?”

“When you used it against me at Fontaine.  When you made me believe that it was nothing, that _I_ was nothing, and that my feelings for you were wasted.”  Damen’s voice quivered, and he swallowed thickly. He had done his best not to dwell on that particular exchange with Laurent.  It was too painful, and best left undisturbed.

“That was a lie,” Laurent said, firmly.  “You must know that.”

Damen looked away, across the room to the row of windows looking out to the sea.  The unyielding sunlight of midday burned his eyes.

“ _Damen,_ ” Laurent said again, leaning forward.  His voice was tight, worried. “You must know by now that I was lying.  That even then, I-” Laurent chomped down on the words like they were forbidden, like they were still keeping secrets. It sparked hope in Damen’s aching chest.  His breath hitched under his ribs.

There was still a length of table between them; the entire width of their countries across the map.  Laurent’s hand fell on parchment, coming down right over Marlas.

There was sweat on the back of Damen’s neck, and his muscles were strained; coiled for an attack that would never come.  He clenched his fingers into fists, white knuckles staring up at him.

A frustrated sigh from across the table.  “Blast this ridiculous table. Damen, look at me.”  A pale hand came off the map, and landed again with a _slap_.

Damen turned.

“You know that even then, I was falling in love with you.  This is nothing like Fontaine. That was...self preservation.  Ill-conceived self-preservation, I’ll admit. I’m not trying to cut you down, I-”

“You are trying to appear superior?  Because everyone on the Kyroi knows I’m helpless to you?  Because even _Nikandros_ thinks I make decisions purely on remaining in your good graces?”

Laurent drew his hand away from the center of the map and let his head fall between his shoulders.  A long sweep of blond hair tumbled over his forehead, strand by strand.

There it was; the truth.

“Who put you up to it?  The council? Your own ridiculous mind?”

Laurent lifted a hand, begging Damen to stop.

“We must make changes,” Damen said, more gently.  “Even you.”

A nod.

“I know you.  I know this is not the kind of King you want to be.  Petty, foolish.”

Laurent’s body was frozen and strung taught like a bow string.  

Damen kept his voice soft as he said, “I beg you not to use me as a pawn.  Those days are done. We sit at this table as equals - as _kings_.  We must be strong for our own countries, yes, but what of us?  What of our kingdom? We must not cut each other down. That is not the way I want to rule together.”

With a long, deep breath, Laurent stood to his full height.  “I know,” he said.

Time stretched as they watched each other.  Damen’s heart was still sore, as though roughed about inside his chest.  Bruised like a fruit fallen from a branch too high. He wasn’t used to this anymore; sparring with Laurent.  From the look in his lover’s eyes, it was obvious that Laurent was also out of his depth.

Over the past several months, they had come so far.  There were two sets of new governments, countless laws and new ways of life.  Both kingdoms were plagued with unrest, yes, but the overall relief of _peace_ was settling over the land.  On most occasions, Damen found Laurent’s devotion to politics fascinating.  The way he fixated on every detail was so unlike the Regent, even King Aleron, that Damen tried to learn from him.  Now, when he had chosen to fixate on the details of policy himself, it had led them here.

Their hands were at their sides, relaxed for the first time all afternoon.

“Shall we resume?” Damen asked.  How long could they make the council wait?  Surely there would be time to resolve this hurt between them.  Now was not the moment.

“I…”

“If we agree to leave our personal relationship out of this discussion, I see no reason not to resume the session,” Damen said, pressing a weary palm to his forehead.  “We’re close to an agreement, and I want to be done.”

A loud scraping sound made him flinch.  Footsteps on wood, on parchment, and suddenly Laurent was beside him, clamoring down from the table.  Without pausing, he grasped Damen’s wrist and pulled it away from his face.

“I am sorry,” he said plainly.  “I didn’t think my actions through.  It was not my intention to hurt you.”  His eyes were pleading, and Damen found himself lost in their depth.  

They were close; closer than they’d been all day.  Damen felt weakened by the warmth of Laurent, so close to his own skin.  He smelled of luxurious fabric and the fine oils he used in the baths. Laurent’s fingers around Damen’s wrist were gentle and he turned their hands so they fit.  Words did not come to him.

Damen dropped his head lower and Laurent met him with the soft touch of his nose to his cheek.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Laurent said, in a small voice.  His hushed breath fanned over Damen’s skin. “I never want to hurt you.”

Damen closed his eyes and fought back the pain in his chest.  “Later. Let’s discuss this later. _Please_.”

They stepped back and watched each other.  “You’ll have us wait?”

“I can’t...right now.  Give me time.”

As though scolded, Laurent released his hand and took a step back.

Damen took his distance as consent, and signaled for the servants to reopen the doors to the hall.  The council burst in with a flurry of voices and swishing robes.

“Exalted! We’ve been talking and-”

“We think we might be able to handle forty-five percent-”

“Vannes had an interesting idea-”

The unity of the council warmed Damen’s insides enough to solder his wounds for now.  He moved past Laurent to return to his seat. As discussion resumed around the table, Laurent walked slowly back to his chair.  He did not look at Damen for the rest of the afternoon.

 

* * *

 

 

After another long two hours, the debate was done, and they had agreed on a shared forty-five percent of grain stock to Vere.  The papers were drawn, the kings’ signatures were scribbled, and the decision was made.

Laurent was the first to leave the chamber, silently and without a backwards glance.  Damen watched him go with a twinge of regret and longing, but more than that, he realized he still needed time alone.  Time to think. Time to be himself.

He waved away the Kyroi, not interested in sharing a pitcher of wine and discussing the oddities of the council of Vere.  The map before him had been cleared; tiny figures of Akeilon and Veretian armies pushed to the side. He absently traced the raised ink of Ios with his finger.  

Outside the waves were still undulating in the wind and lit softly from the fading afternoon sunshine.  He realized now what he wanted to do.

Rather than encounter a brooding Laurent in their quarters, he placed his ceremonial gold laurel crown on the table.  His lion pin followed, and his blood-red cloak. Dressed only in his chiton and sandals, he wound his way down to the kitchens.

He found what he was looking for without much trouble: a spear and a basket.  

Being that Ios was built on a volcanic cliffside, the trek down to the water was never an easy one.  It had been many years since Damen had taken this particular path down to one of his favorite coves, but he somehow remembered how to carefully place his sandaled-feet on the rough stones as he clambered his way down.

Revealed only by the low, afternoon tides, the tiny crescent of sand was deserted and pristine.  The beach was littered only by the remnants of the waves hours earlier; bits of dried foam, brittle clusters of dried seaweed and discarded clam shells.  They crunched under Damen’s feet as he walked to the water’s edge. It was a small relief to unwind his chiton, and he stood for a moment, letting the breeze press on his sweat-damp skin.  After an afternoon of being tongue-lashed by Laurent, it was liberating to stand in the open as he was. A man. Bared, naked, vulnerable.

Alone.

Leaving his clothes and the basket behind, Damen waded out into the water with the spear in hand.  The waves were almost too cold, as they splashed against his legs. As his feet sunk in the sand, he could smell the salt and the briny tang of shellfish where they dried out on the rocks, waiting for the tide to rise.  He felt a laugh rise to his lips. How long had it been since he’d done this?

He waded out to mid thigh, then with all the grace of a soldier, splashed loudly into the water and under.

The salt stung his eyes and blurred his vision, but in the soft sunlight he could see the shadows flit over the rocks and sand.  Patterns of light flickered over the sand below as ribbons of jade green seaweed fluttered about in the current. A school of silvery fish scattered from the hulking shadow of his body as he kicked off a rock and further into the shallows.  The late-afternoon currents had stirred up the sand and silt, clouding the water slightly, but not quite enough to keep him from spotting his prize.

He came up for air once, before diving back down to pursue the creeping shadow under the nearest rock.  His first throw missed by a long shot, and the pink-skinned octopus shot out of its hiding place and into the clouds of sand.

Unfazed by his first loss, Damen tried two more times, before he decided that it had been long enough since he’d gone fishing, that he’d completely lost all skill in spear throwing.  He floated lazily to the surface and lay there for a spell. The salty water was buoyant, and kept him floating comfortably. Waves splashed over his abdomen, cooling the skin as it warmed quickly from the sun.  

Naturally, his thoughts lingered on Laurent.

They had been separated by several weeks this time.  Despite their actions today, Damen longed for the kind of lazy afternoons they stole for themselves within Ios.  The kind of days they couldn’t get away with in Arles. There were too many eyes and ears in the ornate Veretian palace.  Here, within the marble walls, he and Laurent could frolic like the young lovers they were.

And yet…

One afternoon gone by, and they had walked away from each other after an argument.

He wanted to daydream about blonde hair in the breeze, sea water dripping over a shoulder blade, the way ivory skin shone in the lamp light after a late night round of lovemaking.  With a groan, Damen let his head fall back deeper in the water, re-soaking his hair and cooling his scalp.

When he next opened his eyes, he felt the cooler temperature of deep water on the back of his legs.  Propelled by the waves, he was letting himself drift out to sea. With another deep breath, Damen decided to have one last go with the spear and head back to shore.

The cove was even more clouded, and he was surprised when he spotted one solitary octopus sprinting across an open expanse of sand.  Without pausing to think, he drew back and let the spear fly through the water.

The kill was silent, and Damen pumped a fist with the victory as he watched his spear pin the octopus to the sand.

After retrieving his catch, he waded out of the shallows and back onto the beach. He realized the burdens from earlier had left his shoulders.  All but one. The most important.

He ached for Laurent, and his viper-like presence beside him.  It was foolish of him to leave their argument unresolved for so long.

When his feet hit dry sand, he froze.

A slim, pale figure unfolded himself from where he was seated beside Damen’s belongings.  Laurent - dressed down to only his pants, boots and unlaced white shirt. His golden hair blew in the wind as he walked forward.

Damen felt quite foolish, standing wet and naked, holding a speared octopus in one hand.

Laurent strode towards him with all of his elegant, aristocratic grace.  Despite everything, Damen was the one who held his breath as his lover approached him.  The young king had brought the basket for Damen’s prize and he dropped it at their feet.  Without hesitating, Laurent pressed his palm flat against Damen’s damp chest.

“You’re straight out of a myth, aren’t you?” Laurent said quietly.  He lifted his other hand to shade his eyes from the sun.

“I didn’t know what else to do.”

“For me as well.”

Damen cocked his head, only now noticing the slightly disheveled appearance of the King.  Wrinkled shirt, mussed hair, undone laces. “Where did you go?”

“The library.”  It was a moment before Laurent smiled slightly, enough to pull up half of his mouth.  He chewed on his words a moment before, “I was reading about the kings of your country, and those that had strong-willed wives.  Which was most of them, incidentally.”

Damen chuckled.  “And?”

Laurent reached between them and dragged his fingers down the side of Damen’s face, before hooking some of his sopping hair behind an ear.  “You’ll find that you’re not easily compared to a woman.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”  Laurent hesitated, then leaned forward and pressed a swift kiss to Damen’s lips.  Damen leaned into it, welcomed it.

He had not expected this at all.

Laurent stayed closed after he broke their kiss, and Damen dropped the spear into the basket so he could wrap his other arm around him.  Droplets of salt water clung to Laurent’s upper lip. “I thought you might have run off for a ride or a spar with Nikandros. I was surprised when the servants told me to find you here.”

“I was surprised too.”

Pale eyebrows crumpled has he struggled with a thought.  Damen watched for a moment, before reaching forward and tipping up his chin. With a breath, “Your anger today, it came from a deep place.”  Pale blue eyes lifted and watched him. “We must solve this now. I don’t want…”

Damen waited, quietly.

Laurent’s voice was tight when he continued.  “It hasn’t been my intention to hurt you ever again.  Please tell me how to fix this.”

It was sweet and earnest, the way Laurent was in private.  It made Damen’s chest hurt. “Come,” He said, reaching for Laurent’s hand and tugging him back to where his clothes lay further up on the sand.  “I’ll dress and we can talk.”

Laurent said nothing, but as Damen glanced over his shoulder, he smiled and laughed to himself.

“Would you prefer that I didn’t?” Damen teased.

With the showy flourish of a Veretian curtsy, Laurent lifted the discarded chiton from the sand, shook it off, and handed it over.  “I think for this conversation, it would be best if you did.”

Damen stepped back into the garment, secured it around his waist, then gestured for them to sit in the sand.  He was surprised when Laurent knelt before him, between his spread legs, so that they were facing each other. Long, pale fingers, knotted in his lap, but his eyes watched Damen carefully.

“Tell me,” was all he said.

Damen lifted a clam shell from the sand and twisted it idly in his hand.  He thought about earlier, and the fractured feeling of his heart. With one last wary look, he spoke.  “You must leave our relationship out of matters of state.”

To Damen, it was an obvious request, even a painful one.  That he had to say anything at all, after so much time had passed…  He continued, “I don’t just ask this as an Akeilon man, I ask this as myself.  A man - a _king_ \- who loves another king.  I don’t care how things are done in Vere, I refuse to be made a fool in front of my own Kyroi and your Council.”

He dipped his head low to meet the downcast blue eyes before him.  Laurent’s thin shirt fluttered in the wind across his collarbone and Damen pressed a finger to the pulse point; like cool marble under his warm finger.  “When you act that way, it reminds me of before.”

“Before?”

“Before I knew you and your motivations.  It made sense to me after that - the armor you built for yourself and the role you had to play.  But, in those days I was nothing to you. I was a pawn to be played, a hated rival to be slaughtered, a slave to be broken.”  Damen paused. “Am I nothing to you?”

Laurent hissed.  “Don’t be stupid.”

“Then say it,” Damen said, needing to hear it suddenly. He reached for Laurent’s twisted fingers and pried them apart.

“You’re everything,” Laurent sighed.  “Damen...”

He had folded Laurent’s pale fingers between his own.  Damen squeezed tighter, and waited.

“I…” Laurent’s voice trembled.  “I’m struggling with this.”

“Us?”

“No.” He shook his head resolutely.  “Being a king. A king ruling with another king.  It’s never been done in our recorded history, and I am lost.  I cannot reconcile how I should rule my own country with how I should rule _our_ kingdom.  They are still separate.”

Damen kissed the tips of his fingers, encouragingly.

“I admit, I don’t yet know how to rule with you, how to _be_ with you when we’re not alone,” Laurent said, shifting his hands so he could clasp Damen’s between his fingers.  “Having you as a partner, is admittedly more than I ever expected during my rule. It brings me great comfort. I don’t know what I would have done without it over the last year.  And before that...”

Damen felt his heart bloom inside his chest.  Such words of sweet praise were rare from Laurent.  Rare, and precious.

“How do we rule together without appearing weak? The people of my country are already on edge.  They shout at me in the streets in Arles, horrible things.” He let out a shuddering breath. “If I am not the frigid Laurent they know, how will they ever learn to follow me?”

“You are a true man,” Damen said, gently.  “Why hide yourself behind an old facade when you could be a great king as you are before me?  They will see that. Look what you’ve achieved already.”

Laurent leaned forward, torso curving in a smooth arc.  His forehead pressed to Damen’s shoulder, as though at last deflated from the effort of the day.  He was only ever like this with Damen; laces undone physically and mentally, his body open and vulnerable.  

“My kingdom never expected me to be brave, like my brother or my father.  Like _you_.” Laurent’s voice fluttered against Damen’s sensitive skin.  “If I don’t function on my actions alone, I fear I will lose my people.”

Damen let his palm drift down the bumpy column of Laurent’s spine.  “You won’t. You’re still young in age and in kingship. Your people will grow to love you when they see what you are capable of.”  Softly, he added, “It worked on me.”

Laurent sat up suddenly, taking Damen’s face in his hands.  “Why, Damen? Why do you tolerate me so? What I did today was unthinkable.”

Damen eased his hands over Laurent’s wrists, like stroking a spooked horse.  Gently, gently. “Because I love you.”

Laurent expelled a rough breath as he pressed their heads together.  They sat that way, in the quiet of twilight blooming above them. Laurent’s skin was tinged pink in the dying sunlight, the cool breeze prickling his flesh where there was shadow.  He held Damen’s face tightly, grounding himself against the weight of him, against the truth of his words.

_Damen loved him._

As he waited, Damen began to realize his own truths.  Their relationship, their feelings for one another - they were sacred and concrete.  It was the reason he did not feel compelled bow down to the requests of the Veretian council earlier, or to follow Laurent out of the hall.  Together they were strong, and to stay that way they needed to be strong apart as well. He trusted Laurent not to abandon him for his mistakes, and he would demand the same.

Laurent’s hands softened, then moved over Damen’s face. He heard the sound of his stubble scratching across smooth, unmarred palms.  Their eyes met, and Laurent leaned into Damen’s space. Lips ghosted over Damen’s cheek and his chin, before finally capturing his lips in a rush of warm breath.  The kiss was hot, and insistent; as was the anguish from the day, pooled inside both of their chests, looking for a means of expression. Fingers hooked tightly into Damen’s dark curls as Laurent deepened the kiss with a soft sweep of his tongue.

At last, after a day wrought with tension, Damen felt it uncoil slowly from around his body.  Laurent climbed deftly into his lap and hooked his arms around Damen’s neck. They were pressed chest to chest, groin to groin, every vulnerable part of their bodies shielded by the other.  Their shared, desperate breaths blended with the shushing of the waves that would soon encroach on their patch of sand.

When Laurent pulled away, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were dark.  “I won’t make this mistake again. I swear to you.”

Damen surprised him by pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to his exposed neck.  “I trust you.”

Breathlessly, “I try not to make mistakes twice.  It’s part of my...design.”

“Mmm,” Damen hummed against his skin. “I believe it.”

Laurent let out a breath and allowed himself a moment of calm.  The pale arcs of his eyelashes splayed over his pink cheeks. In return, Damen allowed himself a moment of shameless staring.

When Laurent’s eyes opened, he was serious.  “We will sit beside each other at the table from now on.”

This was unexpected.  “Don’t we always?”

“At the Council table.  I will rule beside you, I will converse with you, I will hear your unhappiness should you have it.  We have our advisors, but we must also advise each other.”

Damen’s arms tightened Laurent.  “ _Yes_.”

Having shared his idea, the blonde king seemed to relax again.  “Do you forgive me?” He twisted several of Damen’s curls around his fingers idly.

They watched each other carefully.  “I do,” he said.

They came together again, more desperate this time.  Laurent’s fine shirt, wide at the neck from its unlaced collar, fell slowly over one shoulder.  Damen pressed his hand to the skin newly exposed, over Govart’s scar. The weight of Laurent’s body was heavy, begging for Damen to lay back in the sand and feel every inch of his lover on top of him.

Fingers played across Damen’s broad, bare shoulders then down across his chest.  “Is there, perhaps, something else I could offer you in apology?” Laurent teased over Damen’s lips.

Damen laughed as he fought back a moan.  Hours ago he wanted to strangle that pale neck, now this.  “You sound as though you already have something else in mind.”  

A thumb brushed over Damen’s exposed nipple and he hissed.  “Yes,” low near his ear. “But not here. I’d imagine sand is...quite unpleasant.”

“Quite.”

“But,” more kisses to Damen’s cheek, his neck, his ear.  “I think you would like to make love to me.”

Damen’s arms tightened unconsciously.  “Yes.”

“Perhaps a bath first?”

He could merely grunt.

There was laughter near his ear.  “Ah yes, here is my barbarian.”

Cold air surrounded Damen as Laurent withdrew and stood.  They were shrouded in shadow now, the pale sunlight having diminished to a purple glimmer behind clouds low in the sky.  Laurent held out a hand. “Come.”

As they made their way up to the palace, it was Laurent who stopped them, to press Damen against the black rocks and kiss him.  Then, higher, in the gardens against a pillar and under a tree. Damen’s sensitive heart, nearly healed, could hardly bear it. He was overwhelmed with the periodic feeling of having everything he’d ever wanted.  His kingdom, a lover, and Laurent - his brilliant ally.

Eager hands wandered across bared skin, through shirt openings and half-tied chitons.  It was an age before they finally reached the steaming, marble cavern of the baths. Both of their chests rose and fell with rapid breaths as their garments were removed from their flushed bodies.

They let the servants wash them before they entered the bathing pools, even as they gazed at each other across the flat expanse of marble floor.  Unfamiliar hands pressed a sponge to their skin, washing away the salt and the sea.

In the misty light of the room, he saw that Laurent’s skin was colored from the warm water, and, Damen hoped, a mirrored arousal.  When they were clean, Laurent said, “Leave us,” and they continued to gaze at each other as the servants excused themselves from the room.

The cavernous space was nearly silent, save the trickle of fountains and the gentle sloshing of bathwater.  The marble felt sturdy and warm under Damen’s feet. Across from him, Laurent’s eyes raked over his body. Unable to stand it, Damen closed the distance between them.  Four steps across wet stone brought him to his king. Their feet pressed against each other as they stood, chest to chest, thigh to thigh.

“I expect you’ll allow us to make it back to our chambers?” Laurent teased, leaning forward to press a kiss to the hollow of Damen’s throat and his collarbone.

“Get in the bath,” Damen demanded softly, voice gravelly with desire.

Surprisingly, Laurent did as he was told, and descended slowly into the warm bath at their side.  Damen followed, hissing at the heat of the water on his skin. He stepped up to Laurent’s back, water up to their hips.

Damen knew that this slowness between them - his hands over Laurent’s body, his lips on his skin - was Laurent’s true gift to him.  Their joined bodies, the culminating pleasure in making love, that was different. Sex wasn’t strange to them anymore, it was an unwinding.  But these quiet moments, the elongated space of time when they could exist alone, without interruption, were rare and precious.

Damen slid his hand over Laurent’s tight stomach, down, down until he took him in hand.  Laurent exhaled, and his body bowed back against Damen’s. He lifted his arm to cup the back of Damen’s neck.

Laurent turned, and they sunk together in the water, so he could twine his legs around Damen.  For a time, they floated that way, entwined and pressed close. Damen’s arms criss crossed over the sharp blades of Laurent’s shoulders as cool drips of water fell from the tips of his blond hair onto olive skin.

Eventually Laurent pulled back enough to regard Damen.  His cool eyes were bright with new curiosity.

“What is it?” Damen asked, pushing straw hair with his fingers.

“I never asked you before…”  His eyes fluttered closed, in modest bashfulness.  “You'll find me a fool.”

Damen smiled fondly. “I already think you’re a fool.”

Laurent’s mouth twitched and tugged up at one side.

“Well?” Damen prodded.

Rather than speak, Laurent untangled himself from around Damen. With his feet firmly on the floor of the bath, he pushed them backwards until Damen was backed against the edge.  The marble pressed into his spine at a sharp angle.

Laurent leaned into his chest with with slow, possessive force. “When did you know?”

A rush of dark memories flooded Damen’s brain. Of _before_ \- of everything. He knew, of course. The realization was was tattooed across his heart forever. He gave himself a moment, however.  He wanted to remember, to gaze upon Laurent as he was now - with his curious eyes, softened and kind, without a hint of impatience.

A reward for all that they had endured.

Laurent stood still with his eyes on Damen’s lips, waiting for words to fall from his mouth. Damen dragged his fingers down Laurent’s back, to his flank, and lower.  As fingers curved, Laurent exhaled and did as Damen was bidding. He angled their bodies closer, skin dragging over skin.

His expression had softened somehow, even as the flames of desire were stoked anew.

“In Nesson-Eloy,” Damen said, voice deep with meaning and memories. “That night. You re-shaped almost everything I thought about you.”

For a heartbeat, they merely watched each other, images from the night flitting before their eyes.  A breathless chase across the rooftops, something akin to joy and laughter, and then the inexplicable terror that they were somehow in danger.

Laurent smiled and dropped his head bashfully. “I expect it was when I underhandedly called you a good man?”

A breath of laughter escaped Damen’s lips, even as his heart ached at the memory. So much between that night.  And this one too.

“All of it,” he said.  “The rooftops and the brothel. Your hair in the firelight, and that awful cap.”

They kissed in a way the moment demanded, and Laurent twined his body closer around Damen’s.

“The ride through the night, when I tried to decide what I would do if you weren’t there when I returned.”

Laurent drew in a slow breath. “But I was.”

“Yes.”

His eyes closed and he hid his face somewhere in Damen’s shoulder.  “It was more complicated for me.” An admission.

“I know.”

“I think it was when you touched me. When you...touched my shoulders.”

The memory made Damen hum like a low purr in his chest, even though it was unexpected. “You hated that.”

“I was terrified.”

Damen drew his finger across one of his shoulder blades.  “You had me then.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“I just told you,” Damen laughed.  “Believe it, and listen to me now. Myself, your men, your guard. We were - _are_ \- devoted to you. It cannot be faked. You have a twisted way of earning trust.”

Laurent lifted his head and gazed at Damen with a sense of bashful bewilderment.

“Use it,” Damen said.

He relaxed then, his body forming seamlessly with Damen’s. He kissed waiting lips sweetly and earnestly. “Admittedly, I did not foresee our day would end this way.”

“What way?”

“With our argument turning into a lesson.  With your sweet words inspiring me to do better.  With our bodies...like this.”

Damen laughed.  “Isn’t that how all of our days end?  You should be used to it by now.”

Laurent’s laughter was sudden and light.  “I suppose you’re right.”

Damen watched the way his smile imprinted on his face, remarked at how lovely it was.

“I love you,” Laurent said, completely unguarded.  It was normal, and pure of intent. Damen’s heart swelled with joy.

“Sentiment?”

“Idiot.” A pause. “Say it.”

Damen said it without words.  He said it with his lips and hands, with his arms as he carried them from the baths to their quarters, with the hurried and clumsy slapping of his wet feet on the marble floors.

He said it with the slow, sure motions of his body on the sheets.

Until at last, he whispered it against the delicate shell of Laurent’s ear as he slept.

**Author's Note:**

> All's well that ends well. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! Please share your feedback!


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